


4,903 Miles from Home

by impendingdeity



Category: One Direction
Genre: Everyone Is Gay, Happy anniversary baby, M/M, Secret Lovers, THIS IS REAL GAY FOR ZAH, War!Harry, World War II
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-13
Updated: 2018-03-13
Packaged: 2019-03-31 01:55:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13964847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impendingdeity/pseuds/impendingdeity
Summary: A story in which Harry and Zayn have been together for majority of their teenage lives, but it all changes when Harry receives something in the mail.





	4,903 Miles from Home

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for a very special girl in my life because it seems like she’s read every Zarry fan fiction in existence, except mine. I tried to make this as gay, angery and beautiful as possible for you. Hopefully this can bring the biggest smile to your face and will tug at your heartstrings as much as it did while I wrote it. Happy eight month anniversary, petunia. I love you. 
> 
> (P.s. I’m updating the chapters each month we spend together, YOU’RE WELCOME.)

Summer had been the only season that Harry cared for. The way the heat would stick to his skin, how his salty sweat beaded down his forehead, but more importantly how Zayn looked with his shirt off. The sight was a blessing to say the least. Harry’s eyes would rake over each deep on Zayn’s abdomen whenever they were visible. In this case, he was helping to move fresh produce to stock. “Just gonna drool over me and not help? Come on then.” Hearing his intoxicatingly accented voice was enough to bring him back to reality. Harry hated, yet loved moments like these. It made him feel like those girls who hung out around his house that would giggle at his every word. ‘Just fucking sickening’, he thought. On the other hand, it made him want to want to write Zayn’s last name with his first. In fact, it’s what the first three pages of his notebook looked like. ‘Harry Malik. Harold Malik. Harold Edward Malik. Harold Edward Styles-Malik.’ Much to his delight, that seemed to do the trick. Harry would repeat his newly added last name in his head several times a day until getting interrupted by the brown skinned boy. “Drooling it is. You’re of no help, Styles.” Zayn had scoffed while lugging the crate of apples to the street.  
“Can’t really help it, can I? Someone’s out here showing his gaudy tattoos to the world.” Harry had picked up the apple that was close to falling, polishing the skin onto his pant leg.  
“Didn’t tell you to look.” He smirked.  
“Piss off, why don’t you?”  
“Can’t get rid of me that easily. Wanna go down to the lake tonight? Heard it’s supposed to be beautiful.”  
The lake had been one of their code words lately. Obviously it meant a body of water, but there was much more to it than that. It meant that it was their hideaway from the rest of the world. Their own little bubble filled with nothing but their precious memories they’ve created for months, years even. 

*  
“Come on, Zayn! You’re gonna miss the fireflies!” Harry’s barefooted soles had hit the ground running through the blades of grass. His chest heaved by how fast he beat his friend through the humid summers night. It was always something to look forward to on their various occasions of visiting the marshy area. Harry would stop before reaching the cattails sprouting from the water, bending over to wrap an arm around his stomach to catch his breath.  
“It’s not even dark enough for the fireflies.” Zayn’s voice had echoed through the twilight, and jogged to the boy who played up the dramatics. He knew how much Harry adored being cared for, not to mention being center of attention. Zayn couldn’t help but not to give his back a gentle rub. Doing this caused the panting for air to suddenly stop and for Harry’s posture to straighten.  
“Do you like girls?” Harry blurted out randomly, eyeing his good friend in search for an answer.  
“Girls? They’re nice. They smell good.” Zayn replied honestly.  
“But like-like? Like courting one?”  
“Haven’t thought about it.” 

The only noise between them was the sound of crickets chirping and the movement of the water.

“What about boys?” Harry asked in a gentle tone, not daring to look over at Zayn.  
“Even better. They smell a bit dirtier, though.”

Another silence fell. This time, it was louder. It’s odd how being silent could be loud, but it felt as if it was swallowing  
Harry whole. He wasn’t sure why he asked Zayn those questions. Something inside of Harry made him seek that confirmation, no—, something inside of him needed that confirmation. The pale skinned boy wasn’t satisfied with his companions answer.

“Do you want to kiss me?” Harry spoke quietly, feeling slightly shamed if he were to wait for Zayn’s approval.  
“Yeah.” 

Nothing could compare to that moment. Nothing could compare to how Zayn’s cool hand felt against Harry’s sweaty cheek. Nothing could compare to Zayn’s nose smooshing against Harry’s as he leant in. Nothing could compare to how their lips brushed against one another and how sweet tasting Zayn’s lips were. Nothing could compare to how they knew that it was wrong, but felt so right. Nothing could compare to the shared fire and lust filled tension in their pants, yet the same in their hearts. Nothing could compare to that. Not a single thing. 

**  
“I’d love to go to the lake with you.” The white male had watched as Zayn’s lips curled into a beaming grin. He couldn’t help but to think that he was the only one who could see him like that. He was his and only his. Harry had left the fruit stand alone, though. An apple was in his mouth while he fumbled to remove his own shirt from his body, tying it around his forehead to keep sweat from falling in front of his eyes. The sweet juices from the produce were crisp and left remnants down the front of his chest. He didn’t care, though. It would all be washed off in the process of dolling himself up for their “date” tonight. God, he really was turning into a fuckin’ girl, wasn’t he? A brisk walk from Main Street had left Harry approaching his home, the weeds growing out onto the sidewalk and into the street. He sighed because he knew his mother would make a fuss of it and he couldn’t really be bothered with hearing her shrill voice. Harry skipped to the entrance of their plantation home, opening the door with his hip. Doing so unlocked the somber tone of the house, a clear film setting in over his family at the dinner table.  
“What? Wha?” Harry had left the T from his last question and approached the two women dear to him. Gemma had sat across from their mother Anne, the pair glancing at the heap of mail in the center.  
“Someone pass? What is it?” He had discarded the apple on the floor now and stormed into the dining area with a twinge of frustration.  
“I’m not pulling teeth with either of you. Someone tell me wha-“  
“Harry, you’re being drafted.” Gemma had spoke up.  
It felt like a joke.  
“No I’m not.” He scoffed. Harry walked over to the sink to wash his hands of the sticky sweet fruit, wiping his hands on his pants.  
“Harry.” His mother sounded hurt, very much like the first time Harry had brought a green toad inside the house and placed it on her pillow. This hurt was a different hurt, like a dulled one after you stub your toe. He heard the fumbling of the papers on the table, but didn’t dare to turn around. Anne meekly slid the rectangular slip of paper onto the counter space next to him which read his fate. His emerald green eyes glanced over it quickly, not wanting the knife of the words to sink in any further. Harry grabbed the ivory sheet of paper to slide into his back pocket. He darted past his family and stomped straight up the stairs and to his room. The shouting and screaming from his mother and sister would turn into white noise as his back dropped down the wooden door. His eyes closed shut to rid his brain of the images of war he’s read about, trying desperately to create a blank canvas from his own turmoil. The only image he couldn’t block out was Zayn. In his thoughts, Zayn was happy. His lips would spread into a toothy grin, one that made his eyes crinkle at the corners. His bearded cheeks would grow higher and higher until his cheekbones practically melted into his skin. That was the sight he wanted. He didn’t care about being shipped off to Europe or killing the enemy. He just cared if Zayn was happy. His memory of his lover had gone awry as tears started to well in his eyes, despite them being closed. Harry closed them tighter and harder until the stream had painted over his cheeks. The audio from the chaos outside had seeped into his ears, their voices layering over one another like a soundtrack to his overwhelmed soul. As much as he hated to, he knew that he had to get up. He couldn’t just sit there and mope for the rest of the night. He had a promise to keep with Zayn and would try his damnedest to fulfill it, even though the thin paper in his pocket was weighing him down like rocks.  
~  
Harry looked like death. His eyes were puffy and inflamed as he examined himself in the mirror. The discussion with Zayn would’ve been easier if they were strictly friends, but that wasn’t the case. Friends don’t just kiss or touch each other’s asses. Especially not guys. How would you casually bring up to the man you’re in love with that you’re being sent some place where you might die? “Hey, I’m going to fight for our country and might get a few bullets pumped into me, but it’s okay! I did it to save the world!” The fucking thought of proclaiming that to him made bile grow in the back of his throat. As he swallowed down the acidic burning sensation, his mind had their gears working to make his mind go into a whirlwind of thoughts once more. He kept them at bay by humming a tune that managed to crawl from the crevice of his brain. Opening the door to step out of the washroom, he was met with his sister staring at him.  
“You can’t avoid us forever, Harry.” Gemma had spoken through her tight lips.  
“I’m not doing any of the sort.”  
“You locked yourself in your room for an hour. Along with another hour in the loo.”  
Harry froze. There was no way that he had spent two hours sulking.  
“What time is it?”  
“Seven.”  
As much as he hated disappointing his sibling, there were far more important manners at hand than listen to her scold him.  
“I have a date. If Mum asks, tell her I went to hang out with.. What’s her name? Black hair, brown eyes... Molly! I’m out with Molly.” He was pacing in between the bedroom and bathroom to look at himself with each item he put on his body.  
“Who are you going out with?” Gemma grew suspicious.  
“Molly. Thank you, big sister.” Harry had bent forward to place a kiss on her forehead before rushing past her frame and to the front door. Leaving his family in the dark wasn’t his intention, though. He had only one thought rushing through his head at the time and it was Zayn. As long as he could make it out the door and to their little bubble, he was fine. While Harry’s hand had gripped the doorknob to open it, he was met with his thought in real time.  
“You look shit, Har.” Zayn had his hand extended with intent to knock on the door. The other hand contained a beige wicker basket with a red cloth draping down the sides.  
“As do you.” Harry couldn’t help but feel his cheeks get hot through their harsh flirting. Just as he heard the incoming footsteps from above, the front door was shut as quickly as it opened. For months, the name Molly has been used to refer to Zayn. The thought of two men being together was frowned upon in their community, but it didn’t stop the two of them from sneaking out with one another.  
“Molly fixed you your favorite dish.”  
“Did she? What is it?”  
“Apple pie. The American delicacy.”  
Harry couldn’t help but snicker at how Zayn attempted his best to sound like a yankee. The thickness of his tongue and the following words were too distinguished for the simple accent. He started to wonder about what it would be like not hearing Zayn’s quick spoken speech and it left a sharp twinge in his heart. His hand had reached low to graze against the inked hand that seemed to be too lonely holding nothing. He linked his fingers and held on tight. The feeling of his perfectly calloused palms and the ragged edge of Zayn’s nails provided him with a feeling of protection, a sense of home, almost. It also provided his porcelain cheeks with an obscure shade of red that could only be brought by the presence of the man. Their walk to the lake was one that was shared in silence, the only noise between them was their feet hitting the concrete, the rustling of their pants and the basket hitting against Zayn’s leg. With each movement it seemed like the paper crinkling in Harry’s pocket had grew louder. He wasn’t sure if Zayn could hear it or not, but he began to hum to rid his mind of the noise that sounded like nails on a chalkboard. Approaching the grassy area of the lake, Harry had decided to reminisce on old times.  
“If I get there first, you owe me a kiss.” He announced.  
“What if I get there first?” Zayn questioned.  
“Might give you a handy. Depends on how winded I am.”  
He had begun to remove his shoes, putting the leather loafers in his hands. His eyes glanced over at his date with a conniving grin. Harry already knew that Zayn would give him a head start, he always has. It didn’t take much for the man to run, though. He just took one quick sprint through the sharp blades of grass, feeling each stick and stone sticking to the bottom of his feet. His competitive nature had kicked in at this point. The wind had rushed past his ear, the gust providing him with a sensation that cooled his hot skin. He continued to run until he reached the lake, stopping at when his big toe had been met with the body of water. Harry turned around to find Zayn approaching, but to his surprise he hasn’t even made it halfway there.  
“You giving up that easy, Malik? Come on! Who wouldn’t want to kiss me?” He stood with his hands on his hips in fake thought. He wasn’t sure if he had gotten lost or not, but the route Zayn was taking seemed to be slower than expected. Taking a small jog into the greenery they once started out on, he found his love propped up against a large oak tree. Harry could hear a few shaky breaths coming from him while he came closer.  
“Are you al-,”  
“You dropped that while you were running.” Zayn had tossed the infamous paper at Harry’s feet. It felt like his world was sucking him in like a vacuum. He started to feel his thudding heartbeat into his ears, along with the constricted feeling in his chest. His fingers trembled as he attempted to pick up the draft notice, but the ivory sheet was the least of his worries.  
“Where are you going?” Harry asked in a quiet tone.  
“Home.” Zayn had started to pack up the the wicker basket to slide onto his arm while turning his heel in the direction of which they came.  
“Don’t be like that. Come on, Z.” He had extended his hand out to grip out for Zayn’s free hold, but it was revoked as the backhanded tattoo snatched back.  
“You’re a fucking dick.”  
“I was going to tell you.”  
“When?! When, Harry? When you have twenty fucking bullets pumped into your head? Or would I have to find out by your mum and sister?”  
“I didn’t want you to worry like how you are now!”  
“So not telling me you’re going off to fight a fucking war is better than me worrying about your safety? Better than finding out you’re dead?”  
Harry had watched as Zayn collected himself. A once broken demeanor was replaced with a cold one while his head shook in the distance. He didn’t know what to do at that moment because the feeling of disappointing someone he had true feelings for ended up hitting him harder than any bullet could.  
“Zayn! You stupid piece of shit. Zayn!” Harry had began to jog after the boy with a certain spark igniting in him.  
“What?”  
“I love you!” He shouted out into the dimness of the evening.  
“You what?!”  
“Will you stop fucking running for two seconds?” His shouted command was one that was obeyed. Harry watched as Zayn’s tense shoulders had fell to a relaxed state and how he turned to make eye contact with him.  
“I love you.” He walked toward the tall figure in the night.  
“You what? You wait until now to tell me you’re in fuckin’ love with me and not b-“  
Zayn’s words were cut off as Harry reached out to cup both of his cheeks in his hands, pulling the man’s head close to his lips while their lips met. The smooth plumpness of Zayn’s pair collided with Harry’s thin, the sensation feeling like they were on fire. It was unlike any kiss they had experienced with one another. Their tongues were moistened with the tears that poured from their eyes and the only noise that could be heard was the sound of sniffling. Harry pulled away first, but yet he couldn’t stop nibbling at the man’s bottom lip.  
“Think that was enough to shut me up, huh?” Zayn spoke through a shake of his voice.

**Author's Note:**

> I APOLOGIZE FOR THE MAJOR CLIFFHANGER... always leave them wanting more xx


End file.
